Plinky.com asked me to write a story about getting a scar, either my own or imagined.
Slicing
through murk and mist
All silent pea-souper
and razor-blade stillness
These cobbled streets
uneven, eventful
Lulling this walker
to dream of his home
Gas-lamps
and mud-larks
Brigands awaiting
opportunity’s knock
Sulphurous clouds
burn down the throat
Industrial exhalation
suffocation, the choke
Slicing
the knife’s
swept arcs
parabolic flight
Slashes a chest
releasing red torrents
Falling backwards
avoidance
Follow-through
savage and quick
A lunge, clumsy
telegraphed clear
A kick to the knee
a shadow falls sideways
No time to check
To escape is the all
Run through the pea-soup
run, run, stay blinded
through the front door
The mirror beholds
This wound will bear watching
All gashed, red and visceral
A scar I will bear
of a night in the fog
